Second Part (1st doesn't hold anymore)
"Come! Take me... Devastate me... all of me."
I wanted to be reminded. I wanted you to remind me how the simple and seemingly trivial things could be unnerving and spine-tickling if done for or by someone significant.
I bet making a hot cup of coffee from a lone 3&1 sachet is lifetimes better than brewing freshly harvested coffee beans if it is for my heart of hearts' drinking pleasure.
I imagined you walking towards our corner, towards me, beaming with your blinding grin, arms fully extended wanting to capture me between them, wanting to hold me, wanting to be held by me.
I imagined me, you, us sharing that minute corner in seas of faces stealing time away from the world. The shortest of my imaginary ticks lingered longer than the actual hours with you because we were blessed with nil to none of it.
I looked up clasping the fast-defusing hope in my heart that I'd see you, but I never did. You were never there, and you never came. You didn't heed my call; in fact, you never heard it because you never listened or you were listening to something else.
The night closed in fast. I stood with a sore back from sitting on that less than comfortable bench which is quietly poised at our corner. I lift one foot after the other. In no time, I was the center of the universe and light years away from your constellation.
I had a panoramic view of the dance floor, a space with articles of clothing barely in their proper places, tightly clinging on skins with sweat and cologne and what have you.
I danced. I loosened a bit and let my inhibitions fall like the strap of my dress nudging my bare left shoulder. Music ran through me; waves of pulsating beats took me by the spine. I moved my feet, torso and arms without conferring with my brain.
There, in front of the glowing me, amidst the galaxy of bodies swirling around it, an infinite space narrowed by your absence. I saw everything other than you because you, my zephyr/zilch, is only a graphic product of my imagination.
I'll be dancing...
©Grace Ramos
Sunday, August 30, 2009
A Beautiful Mess
Indeed...
You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is
Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions dear
'Cause here we are, here we are
Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words I'm paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
And what a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
Oh cause here, here we are, here we are
Oh here we are [x7]
We're still here
What a beautiful mess, this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"
Through, timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth
And tides they turn and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we, tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But its nice today. Oh the way it was so worth it.
You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is
Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions dear
'Cause here we are, here we are
Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words I'm paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
And what a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
Oh cause here, here we are, here we are
Oh here we are [x7]
We're still here
What a beautiful mess, this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"
Through, timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth
And tides they turn and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we, tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But its nice today. Oh the way it was so worth it.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
weird repertoire
This was the weird repertoire last night. So the act was having a massive identity crisis on stage, or maybe it was the duo's vague attempt of being musically flexible. Sadly, it ended as a musical tragedy with generous dashes of dead air during sets. These songs were relatively okay ones.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
11:32 PM by Gina Catalino
When you wake up from a less than desirable evening or you wake up with a really massive hangover, 11:32 PM by folk/indie artist Gina Catalino eases them for you. Slow dancing mode guys in the bedroom or under the stars! Love!
11:32 pm and you're on my mind,
like a blood stain on satin sheets
you can't wipe it away with turpentine
I feel breathless, hopeless and unsure
cold feet, full belly does it really feel good
feel good to be home
Chorus
Cause I’m wishing away baby, los angeles,
yes I’m wishing away baby, los angeles
Tripping over cobble stones
exhale the smoke that once filled up my lungs
sigh feeling relieved, sigh feeling relieved
I drink the water for my skins perfection
but I haven't had a real drink today
Repeat Chorus
Soar
The ripples of your cascading hair...
The gentle splashes of your voice...
Please... let me fly, soar even.
The gentle splashes of your voice...
Please... let me fly, soar even.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Smittened
I am high and sober, overwhelmed and sedated as you press against me as if things fit perfectly, as if you belong to me and me to you, as if we will never part, as if all the time in the world is contained by us.
- a verse to a raindrop from a leaf
©Grace Ramos
Comings/Goings
Not the air but the wind
Shifting, sweeping and unpredictable
Carrying leaves, leaves of herstory
Under its blinding wings.
Not the air but the wind
Leaving trees flushed and amorphous
Blowing dirt through distances
My feet have yet to reach.
Not the air but the wind
Devastating the very psyche it created
Enlightening and confusing
A gripping force only it is gifted with.
Not the air but the wind
Bursting with sudden evidence of madness
Immutable, constant
And yet a bold drop of violent inconsistencies.
Not the air but the wind
Boasting with humanity and perfection
A trace of wishful thinking
Etched in clouds of dust and gas
A snapshot of rare emotion
...not my air but my wind.
©Grace Ramos
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Tied a Yellow Ribbon
A sea of yellow and a flood of "Laban" signs once again swept Ayala Avenue. This time the solidarity was to celebrate the legacy that is Senator Benigno "Ninoy" Aquino Jr.
Sen. Ninoy's 26th death anniversary, dubbed as "Dilaw para sa Pagbabago", called for change in governance. There were occasional friendly political banters, but no heart-wrenching insults; although, the incumbent president probably deserves one straight to the gut.
Arguably the highlight of the four-hour program was the speech of Sen. Benigno "Noynoy" Aquino III. The younger Aquino, who was introduced by Makati Mayor Jejomar Binay, had a rock star entrance to the tune of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon." (chuckles)
When he hit the podium, all ears were his as people awaited plans for 2010, but Sen. Noynoy kept his future on the wraps. Instead, he adamantly refused Malacañang's offer to build a monument for his late mother, former president Corazon "Cory" Aquino.
"Building a monument without the virtue of a decent leadership makes the monument worthless," Sen. Noynoy said in Filipino.
Yesterday, Pres. Arroyo ordered the building of Mrs. Aquino's monument in Rizal Park, Manila on time for her January birthday next year.
To lighten the mood, there was a pseudo concert. My favorite has to be Noel Cabangon singing an original entitled, "Isang Mabuting Pilipino." The upbeat song and Cabangon's innate charisma got the crowd on their feet.
After the concert and speeches, a solemn candle-lighting ceremony was held while the statue of Sen. Ninoy was being blessed.
More jubilation followed after as people were singing and dancing like the Messiah descended upon them. The cite reminded me of Mardi Gras less the nudity and plus a sense of patriotism.
Some notable figures present were Former Vice-President Teofisto Guingona, Bayan Muna Rep. Teodoro Casiño, National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbrera, former Social Welfare Secretary Corazon “Dinky" Soliman, Bayan Secretary-General Renato Reyes and ZTE-NBN whistle-blower Rodolfo “Jun" Lozada Jr.
Shoptalk for CPV
On the sidelines of the event, ZTE-NBN whistle-blower Jun Lozada hinted about his political ambitions. Asked about the possibility of him joining the fray of hopefuls in 2010, Mr. Lozada told me, "In God's time."
"Gusto ko munang tapusin ang labang sinimulan ko para sa katotohanan (First, I want to finish the fight for truth that I started.)," he said, adding that before he had to set his political ambitions aside because he was accused of politicking.
Asked if 2010 would mark his debut in the political arena, Mr. Lozada said, "Baka sa susunod pa (Probably in the next election)." He also gave a sly smiles when I asked what particular seat he is eyeing.
To recall, Mr. Lozada rose from relative anonymity when he exposed the involvement of key government officials including no less than President Arroyo and former Commission on Elections Chair Benjamin Abalos in the botched $329.2 million-worth broadband project.
©Grace Ramos
Sen. Ninoy's 26th death anniversary, dubbed as "Dilaw para sa Pagbabago", called for change in governance. There were occasional friendly political banters, but no heart-wrenching insults; although, the incumbent president probably deserves one straight to the gut.
Arguably the highlight of the four-hour program was the speech of Sen. Benigno "Noynoy" Aquino III. The younger Aquino, who was introduced by Makati Mayor Jejomar Binay, had a rock star entrance to the tune of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon." (chuckles)
When he hit the podium, all ears were his as people awaited plans for 2010, but Sen. Noynoy kept his future on the wraps. Instead, he adamantly refused Malacañang's offer to build a monument for his late mother, former president Corazon "Cory" Aquino.
"Building a monument without the virtue of a decent leadership makes the monument worthless," Sen. Noynoy said in Filipino.
Yesterday, Pres. Arroyo ordered the building of Mrs. Aquino's monument in Rizal Park, Manila on time for her January birthday next year.
To lighten the mood, there was a pseudo concert. My favorite has to be Noel Cabangon singing an original entitled, "Isang Mabuting Pilipino." The upbeat song and Cabangon's innate charisma got the crowd on their feet.
After the concert and speeches, a solemn candle-lighting ceremony was held while the statue of Sen. Ninoy was being blessed.
More jubilation followed after as people were singing and dancing like the Messiah descended upon them. The cite reminded me of Mardi Gras less the nudity and plus a sense of patriotism.
Some notable figures present were Former Vice-President Teofisto Guingona, Bayan Muna Rep. Teodoro Casiño, National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbrera, former Social Welfare Secretary Corazon “Dinky" Soliman, Bayan Secretary-General Renato Reyes and ZTE-NBN whistle-blower Rodolfo “Jun" Lozada Jr.
Shoptalk for CPV
On the sidelines of the event, ZTE-NBN whistle-blower Jun Lozada hinted about his political ambitions. Asked about the possibility of him joining the fray of hopefuls in 2010, Mr. Lozada told me, "In God's time."
"Gusto ko munang tapusin ang labang sinimulan ko para sa katotohanan (First, I want to finish the fight for truth that I started.)," he said, adding that before he had to set his political ambitions aside because he was accused of politicking.
Asked if 2010 would mark his debut in the political arena, Mr. Lozada said, "Baka sa susunod pa (Probably in the next election)." He also gave a sly smiles when I asked what particular seat he is eyeing.
To recall, Mr. Lozada rose from relative anonymity when he exposed the involvement of key government officials including no less than President Arroyo and former Commission on Elections Chair Benjamin Abalos in the botched $329.2 million-worth broadband project.
©Grace Ramos
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Same old, same old
Same old story by same old people…
I was looking at my old accounts and found a bold one entitled, “Kagabi.” I read through it and remembered everything, the feeling of being in Ayala one Friday evening, the look at my then BusinessWorld editor when I asked permission to leave for the rally, every single detail, crisp and clear.
I remember trying to psyche people to come and meddle with the affairs of the nation during the heat of the ZTE-NBN scandal. Unfortunately, all I got were colorful excuses and sudden commitments to what have you.
I was visibly frustrated and deeply saddened by the nonchalance of people. For God's sake, this is our once great country, which awed the world with a bloodless revolution in 1986, and you couldn't care any less?
I don't know what people need to feel, see and hear to arouse whatever little interest they have left in their hearts of hearts. What more is needed to ignite flames? Con-Ass? Changing one's title to prime minister from president just doesn't sit well with me.
Apart from the ZTE-NBN hullabaloo, the long list of this administration's sins includes the Hello Garci/2005 election rigging scandal, Proclamation 1017 (State of National Emergency), Calibrated Preemptive Response, so on and so forth.
With bigger and bigger controversies every year, I feel helpless, hopeless even because things are becoming (or is it have become?) too familiar, the sin-sorry-forgiveness routine I mean.
This administration overdid the hideous cycle of corrupting minds and bureaucracies, making it too obvious, predictable even, but somehow indestructible. I’m scared that it has become too ingrained that people are now oblivious to it.
They say, "Only the ones that installed you in your seat can wrestle it from you", but what if the incumbent wasn't installed by the public? What if it was her immense machinery; moreover, her deep-seated "friendships" that gave her the thrown? So we don't have a choice? I'd like to think not.
These questions are not new. How many times have they been raised since the legitimacy of this administration was first questioned? I've lost count of course, but it doesn't mean that everything went stale.
With Con-Ass (whatever you want to call it) threatening the 2010 National Elections, hopefully we did not forget the grave inadequacies of what’s here and now. It is not too late to rise again, it's never too late.
Tomorrow I am one with you as we proudly raise our fists in the air for the pursuit of truth and justice.
©Grace Ramos
I was looking at my old accounts and found a bold one entitled, “Kagabi.” I read through it and remembered everything, the feeling of being in Ayala one Friday evening, the look at my then BusinessWorld editor when I asked permission to leave for the rally, every single detail, crisp and clear.
I remember trying to psyche people to come and meddle with the affairs of the nation during the heat of the ZTE-NBN scandal. Unfortunately, all I got were colorful excuses and sudden commitments to what have you.
I was visibly frustrated and deeply saddened by the nonchalance of people. For God's sake, this is our once great country, which awed the world with a bloodless revolution in 1986, and you couldn't care any less?
I don't know what people need to feel, see and hear to arouse whatever little interest they have left in their hearts of hearts. What more is needed to ignite flames? Con-Ass? Changing one's title to prime minister from president just doesn't sit well with me.
Apart from the ZTE-NBN hullabaloo, the long list of this administration's sins includes the Hello Garci/2005 election rigging scandal, Proclamation 1017 (State of National Emergency), Calibrated Preemptive Response, so on and so forth.
With bigger and bigger controversies every year, I feel helpless, hopeless even because things are becoming (or is it have become?) too familiar, the sin-sorry-forgiveness routine I mean.
This administration overdid the hideous cycle of corrupting minds and bureaucracies, making it too obvious, predictable even, but somehow indestructible. I’m scared that it has become too ingrained that people are now oblivious to it.
They say, "Only the ones that installed you in your seat can wrestle it from you", but what if the incumbent wasn't installed by the public? What if it was her immense machinery; moreover, her deep-seated "friendships" that gave her the thrown? So we don't have a choice? I'd like to think not.
These questions are not new. How many times have they been raised since the legitimacy of this administration was first questioned? I've lost count of course, but it doesn't mean that everything went stale.
With Con-Ass (whatever you want to call it) threatening the 2010 National Elections, hopefully we did not forget the grave inadequacies of what’s here and now. It is not too late to rise again, it's never too late.
Tomorrow I am one with you as we proudly raise our fists in the air for the pursuit of truth and justice.
©Grace Ramos
Kagabi (repost 02/29/08)
Naduwal ako sa mga narinig ko kagabi. Hating gabi na nang nagbitaw si tandang tisoy ng, "Nagtaka ka pa? Ganyan na talagang ang mga [bata] sa kapanuhanan niyo, mga sano! Pagpasok sa mall, limot na ang gulo sa pulitika. Magaling lang makipagsusyalan, pero pagdating sa bayan alang pakialam."
Naiinis ako dahil 'di ko masagot ang banat niya. Tang-ina! Totoo na ata ang litanya ni tisoy. Parang tinatapakan ng elepanteng ginto ang hapis kong dibdib. Puta na nga ba talaga ang mga kabaro ko sa aliw ng pagkalimot?
Gusto ko silang bigyan ng mag-asawang hambalos! Baka sakaling pagnakaramdam ng sakit tumapang ang sikmura at tumalas ang baling mga kuko.
Panu ka nakakatulog nang mahimbing habang si Aling Pudpod ang Tsinelas hanggang ngayong balisang-balisa sa kakaantay sa anak na sabi ng mga tambay dinampot ng mga nakaunipormeng armado?
Panu ka nakakasulat sa mga pahinang bakante kung ang bawat salitang niluluwal ng iyong mga kalmadong tinta ginuhit na pala kahapon ng mga nakaupong hari at reyna?
Gising! Suotan mo ng saplot ang bayang hubad sa katotohanan!
Sigaw! Masyado nang nakabibingi ang katahimikan ng iyong pagyuko.
Lakad! Kahit ang pinakamaliit mong hakbang ay pagsulong mula sa sulok na 'yung kinatatalungkuan.
Wala kang karapatang magkunot-noo kung napakasarap nang pagkakaupo mo ngayon sa lilim ng kutsyong dugong bughaw lang nakakatikim.
Kasama ninyo akong takot, takot sa mga pedeng HINDI MANGYARI 'pag ang katulad natin piniling magkibit-balikat. Hingang malalim!
©Grace Ramos
Naiinis ako dahil 'di ko masagot ang banat niya. Tang-ina! Totoo na ata ang litanya ni tisoy. Parang tinatapakan ng elepanteng ginto ang hapis kong dibdib. Puta na nga ba talaga ang mga kabaro ko sa aliw ng pagkalimot?
Gusto ko silang bigyan ng mag-asawang hambalos! Baka sakaling pagnakaramdam ng sakit tumapang ang sikmura at tumalas ang baling mga kuko.
Panu ka nakakatulog nang mahimbing habang si Aling Pudpod ang Tsinelas hanggang ngayong balisang-balisa sa kakaantay sa anak na sabi ng mga tambay dinampot ng mga nakaunipormeng armado?
Panu ka nakakasulat sa mga pahinang bakante kung ang bawat salitang niluluwal ng iyong mga kalmadong tinta ginuhit na pala kahapon ng mga nakaupong hari at reyna?
Gising! Suotan mo ng saplot ang bayang hubad sa katotohanan!
Sigaw! Masyado nang nakabibingi ang katahimikan ng iyong pagyuko.
Lakad! Kahit ang pinakamaliit mong hakbang ay pagsulong mula sa sulok na 'yung kinatatalungkuan.
Wala kang karapatang magkunot-noo kung napakasarap nang pagkakaupo mo ngayon sa lilim ng kutsyong dugong bughaw lang nakakatikim.
Kasama ninyo akong takot, takot sa mga pedeng HINDI MANGYARI 'pag ang katulad natin piniling magkibit-balikat. Hingang malalim!
©Grace Ramos
You Found Me
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me
Why'd you have to wait?
To find me, to find me.
You Found Me
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me
Why'd you have to wait?
To find me, to find me.
You Found Me
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Amnesia
Nowadays, I find comfort in my intimate collection of memories. Memories woven by the coming and going faces in my stories. Rather than tasting the real thing, I delve into my thoughts when I feel like holding and being held.
I am content with my personal escapes that nobody knows I am taking; my little and grand rendezvous with has beens and what have you. I'd rather have memories of those I had and lost than have nothing of them.
Recently, I was wanting, needing actually, of those perfectly-drafted memories of someone, but I realized I had nothing to remember. Although, I want to say I am holding on to a memory, that I am engrossed in brilliant flashbacks, I can't because I don't have any.
Not a quiet afternoon of reading while heads rest on each other's shoulders, not one night of falling asleep listening to the sound of light breathing, not a single waking morning with a hushed voice in my ear asking how I slept, nothing.
Not even my disdainful and explicit human frailty of needing affection could create a make believe memory. I have nothing of the one I want to remember, and it leaves a despicable aftertaste in tongue, I have nothing, and I couldn't do anything about it.
If I could only weave a today with you, no matter how fleeting, I would embrace every inch of it; I would inhale every flying seconds of it because the narrowest of space and slightest of time with you would mean a lifetime of memory that I could keep.
©Grace Ramos
I am content with my personal escapes that nobody knows I am taking; my little and grand rendezvous with has beens and what have you. I'd rather have memories of those I had and lost than have nothing of them.
Recently, I was wanting, needing actually, of those perfectly-drafted memories of someone, but I realized I had nothing to remember. Although, I want to say I am holding on to a memory, that I am engrossed in brilliant flashbacks, I can't because I don't have any.
Not a quiet afternoon of reading while heads rest on each other's shoulders, not one night of falling asleep listening to the sound of light breathing, not a single waking morning with a hushed voice in my ear asking how I slept, nothing.
Not even my disdainful and explicit human frailty of needing affection could create a make believe memory. I have nothing of the one I want to remember, and it leaves a despicable aftertaste in tongue, I have nothing, and I couldn't do anything about it.
If I could only weave a today with you, no matter how fleeting, I would embrace every inch of it; I would inhale every flying seconds of it because the narrowest of space and slightest of time with you would mean a lifetime of memory that I could keep.
©Grace Ramos
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Tracks of My Tears
Here's Adam Lambert's rendition of a Smooky Robinson original Tracks of My Tears. I tip my hat off to Adam for having an insane vocal range that can go from a rock god when he does the likes of Queen and Led Zeppelin to a sleek and savvy crooner when he does slow rhythms like Yvonne Elliman's If I Can't Have You.
...Outside I'm masquerading...Inside my hope is fading ...
...Outside I'm masquerading...Inside my hope is fading ...
She
"I feel as though I have become a different person. Someone who's soaked in a tepid pool of nothingness."
In a losing effort to conquer human tendencies against gravity, she leaned against a steady wall and held on for dear life, hoping against all hopes that things; although similar as it may seem, would unravel differently.
Alas! She discovered that in order for things to be different; she has to be different. And so she went on a gallant quest of teaching herself what she slighted to learn in the past- taciturnity.
Just a few leaves of herstory before, the only words produced by those tangible lips were, "I want. I am wanting, all of it, all of you, nothing more and nothing less." But now, all of those potent and aroused convictions and feelings are deflated by sedation and sobriety. Who would've ever thought it could be contained?
So much of her has changed in meager infinity. She was never between cracks and crevices; she was, in fact, above them. She was the A and the Z, the 0' and the 100' Celsius, the deliriously happy and the utterly depressed. She was all that and more.
She was infatuation, ambition, appetite, propensity, fascination, truly a sui generis of her species. A bold crux of genetics colliding with romantic idealism of religion and love. She was, and will always be, a paradox, if only in fading memory.
I will remember her. You will too. Someone who enjoyed walking in thin air, someone who liked wearing her heart on her sleeves and someone who took pride from clasping audacious words on her palms free for everybody's scrutiny.
To you... An anomaly of your time. A beautiful anomaly which is now passe.
©Grace Ramos
In a losing effort to conquer human tendencies against gravity, she leaned against a steady wall and held on for dear life, hoping against all hopes that things; although similar as it may seem, would unravel differently.
Alas! She discovered that in order for things to be different; she has to be different. And so she went on a gallant quest of teaching herself what she slighted to learn in the past- taciturnity.
Just a few leaves of herstory before, the only words produced by those tangible lips were, "I want. I am wanting, all of it, all of you, nothing more and nothing less." But now, all of those potent and aroused convictions and feelings are deflated by sedation and sobriety. Who would've ever thought it could be contained?
So much of her has changed in meager infinity. She was never between cracks and crevices; she was, in fact, above them. She was the A and the Z, the 0' and the 100' Celsius, the deliriously happy and the utterly depressed. She was all that and more.
She was infatuation, ambition, appetite, propensity, fascination, truly a sui generis of her species. A bold crux of genetics colliding with romantic idealism of religion and love. She was, and will always be, a paradox, if only in fading memory.
I will remember her. You will too. Someone who enjoyed walking in thin air, someone who liked wearing her heart on her sleeves and someone who took pride from clasping audacious words on her palms free for everybody's scrutiny.
To you... An anomaly of your time. A beautiful anomaly which is now passe.
©Grace Ramos
rant
A cynic is not born; it is created. It is molded by people who are blessed with the pleasure of holding fragile things like hearts in their hands. So when you see one, a cynic I mean, ask yourself if you had a hand in that.
Burning. Oppressed. Frustrated.
Things you would never know...
1. I'm NOT what I write!
2. I live to stun and not to please.
3. I act out of utter respect and all the other niceties in the world, no more no less.
4. It is never okay to derive conclusions from a few shots of vodka so don't!
Word to the wise: Whatever minute thing you think you know about me, multiply that to infinity and take it to the darkest dungeons of forever, and you still won't be able to quantify the depth and shallowness of me.
©Grace Ramos
Burning. Oppressed. Frustrated.
Things you would never know...
1. I'm NOT what I write!
2. I live to stun and not to please.
3. I act out of utter respect and all the other niceties in the world, no more no less.
4. It is never okay to derive conclusions from a few shots of vodka so don't!
Word to the wise: Whatever minute thing you think you know about me, multiply that to infinity and take it to the darkest dungeons of forever, and you still won't be able to quantify the depth and shallowness of me.
©Grace Ramos
Monday, August 17, 2009
Lightning strikes anew
Jamaican sprinter Usain "Lightning" Bolt added more credentials under his belt by shattering his own 100-meter world record in Berlin, Germany.
Bolt, the World's fastest man, keeps on surprising as he clocked 9.58 at the IAAF World Track Championships. The record is faster by .11 seconds than his time in the Beijing Games.
Last August, Bolt broke the then standing world record in the 100-meter final at the Olympics in Beijing, China. He awed the crowd with a rather relaxed finish already pounding his chest in celebration at the 90-meter mark.
Spectators, enthusiasts and sports analysts were dumbfounded on how fast can he go if he only ran the entire leg. Well, I guess his recent parade settled the score. ###
Source: Yahoo Sports & Flickr
Thursday, August 13, 2009
mortal
You rested your head on my left shoulder. I felt you at that moment, smelled you even as the scent of cinnamon mist invaded my air. That's the same irresistible scent that used to make me want to swim in your velvet hair.
You sat up straight, leaned forward and captured whatever little space was left between us. You set your laborer's palm at the back of my neck while gently stroking my hair with your free hand.
I got a little tense and buckled up as I didn’t come for that. I guess I was terrified because you've always had your way with me. You knew this skin too well. You've memorized every curve, every line and every sinful yearning it has that screams everything other than virtue.
When those moments seized, when you’re whispering sinful sweets at my ear, when you’re showering butterfly kisses on my neck, I usually find myself battling furiously against fortress of clothing, nibbling hearts and hands or gasping for scarce air between fissures of sheets.
Certainly it was no divine inspiration that could have led me to virtue. Like those who are bold enough to admit their mortal desires, I too, have mine. I'm more of a saint than a sinner, but when I sin, I sin gloriously shattering the grandest of heavens and raising the depths of hell.
To sin was easier as those plain walls and steady corners are the only ones who could witness the collision of us stars. You were there, alone, with me, in a fairly dim room with closed blinds and shut doors. I never sin half-heartedly, and so if I fall, I will fall willingly.
Just the thought of it reminded me of carnevale where people in masks were free to touch and be touched or a pagan festival where tempers and temptations openly flare against the dancing fire.
Yes, you gave me the courtesy of waiting halfway, but the inches between our kisses seemed farthest than ever. All the carnal spirits urged me to compensate the moves you've taken. "Why do I need urging to do this? I never needed urging before," I told myself.
With blood rushing through every vein, I slid sidewards trying to avoid touching and feeling things I already touched and felt before. I swiftly reached for my jacket, checked my keys and motioned to stand away from an ever welcoming cushion.
As polished as you’ve always been, you flew in front of me, snatched the jacket and cornered my already agitated self against the wall. For a minute there, I was elated, impressed even as you knew what you wanted and knew how to get it.
I like that, others being in control I mean. I am often on the driver's seat, and so I embrace losing myself and being taken by something or someone.
I didn’t move because an attempt to break loose would only heighten things; I knew you've always had a thing for resistance. Without throwing any caution in the wind, and like your life depended on it, you leaned in and whispered “Was it alone time you were looking for?”
©Grace Ramos
You sat up straight, leaned forward and captured whatever little space was left between us. You set your laborer's palm at the back of my neck while gently stroking my hair with your free hand.
I got a little tense and buckled up as I didn’t come for that. I guess I was terrified because you've always had your way with me. You knew this skin too well. You've memorized every curve, every line and every sinful yearning it has that screams everything other than virtue.
When those moments seized, when you’re whispering sinful sweets at my ear, when you’re showering butterfly kisses on my neck, I usually find myself battling furiously against fortress of clothing, nibbling hearts and hands or gasping for scarce air between fissures of sheets.
Certainly it was no divine inspiration that could have led me to virtue. Like those who are bold enough to admit their mortal desires, I too, have mine. I'm more of a saint than a sinner, but when I sin, I sin gloriously shattering the grandest of heavens and raising the depths of hell.
To sin was easier as those plain walls and steady corners are the only ones who could witness the collision of us stars. You were there, alone, with me, in a fairly dim room with closed blinds and shut doors. I never sin half-heartedly, and so if I fall, I will fall willingly.
Just the thought of it reminded me of carnevale where people in masks were free to touch and be touched or a pagan festival where tempers and temptations openly flare against the dancing fire.
Yes, you gave me the courtesy of waiting halfway, but the inches between our kisses seemed farthest than ever. All the carnal spirits urged me to compensate the moves you've taken. "Why do I need urging to do this? I never needed urging before," I told myself.
With blood rushing through every vein, I slid sidewards trying to avoid touching and feeling things I already touched and felt before. I swiftly reached for my jacket, checked my keys and motioned to stand away from an ever welcoming cushion.
As polished as you’ve always been, you flew in front of me, snatched the jacket and cornered my already agitated self against the wall. For a minute there, I was elated, impressed even as you knew what you wanted and knew how to get it.
I like that, others being in control I mean. I am often on the driver's seat, and so I embrace losing myself and being taken by something or someone.
I didn’t move because an attempt to break loose would only heighten things; I knew you've always had a thing for resistance. Without throwing any caution in the wind, and like your life depended on it, you leaned in and whispered “Was it alone time you were looking for?”
©Grace Ramos
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
X (expired)
X
1048/08/06
It has been raining nonstop for weeks now. A few lives have been lost and more have been devastated, but I never got drenched. Someone has been kind enough to walk with me everyday with an umbrella on hand, too kind I suppose, but I like it.
I was never really told to wait at the ground floor lobby, but it became a usual thing, an unspoken thing. It was, I guess, a tacit agreement between two people. I would sit on one of those comfy leather couches waiting for that beam that never fails to sweep me everyday.
There, I would see, the bursting contagious glee coming out of the elevator door. A flutter of those eyelashes would send sublime butterfly kisses across geographies; none of them of course, found their way to me.
That’s the tragedy of being conquered by an incidental smile. I would spend borrowed time trying to figure this translucently opaque person. “How would this person feel with/out me? Would my absence diminish a flame or fan it to a great one? Is there even a flame to start with?”
I would often ponder on those concrete abstractness between us, but I didn’t mind discovering pensiveness, and rediscovering it over and over again if I had to. Who wouldn’t want to derive rapture from a single hello or goodnight everyday?
Hours are mere minutes, and minutes are abridged to seconds all because we’re together. And often times, we’d be guessing; picking each other’s tenacious brains and putting together a puzzle that could be us.
But I guess time together is borrowed time for…
NOTE: I tried to finish with at least three scenarios, all of which I despise so I’ll leave this as it is. And maybe tomorrow I could draw inspiration and paint a better picture, one that would woo in denial soap opera-loving kind of people.
©Grace Ramos
1048/08/06
It has been raining nonstop for weeks now. A few lives have been lost and more have been devastated, but I never got drenched. Someone has been kind enough to walk with me everyday with an umbrella on hand, too kind I suppose, but I like it.
I was never really told to wait at the ground floor lobby, but it became a usual thing, an unspoken thing. It was, I guess, a tacit agreement between two people. I would sit on one of those comfy leather couches waiting for that beam that never fails to sweep me everyday.
There, I would see, the bursting contagious glee coming out of the elevator door. A flutter of those eyelashes would send sublime butterfly kisses across geographies; none of them of course, found their way to me.
That’s the tragedy of being conquered by an incidental smile. I would spend borrowed time trying to figure this translucently opaque person. “How would this person feel with/out me? Would my absence diminish a flame or fan it to a great one? Is there even a flame to start with?”
I would often ponder on those concrete abstractness between us, but I didn’t mind discovering pensiveness, and rediscovering it over and over again if I had to. Who wouldn’t want to derive rapture from a single hello or goodnight everyday?
Hours are mere minutes, and minutes are abridged to seconds all because we’re together. And often times, we’d be guessing; picking each other’s tenacious brains and putting together a puzzle that could be us.
But I guess time together is borrowed time for…
NOTE: I tried to finish with at least three scenarios, all of which I despise so I’ll leave this as it is. And maybe tomorrow I could draw inspiration and paint a better picture, one that would woo in denial soap opera-loving kind of people.
©Grace Ramos
Z (expired?)
The Pisces in me strikes anew. I've been staring at a couple of unpublished blogs not quite sure what to do with them. I am just in awe how fast words can stale. Anyhow, for whatever it is worth, ponder on this...
Z
540/ 08/07
With sweaty palms and purple toes, I was waiting anxiously. Every time my phone beeps, I secretly wished it was you on the other end. But it was never you today as I sulked in disappointment when someone else leaves a message on my machine.
While waiting, I saw a black Persian cat pass by the dimly-lighted hallway and thought, “That looks so familiar.” Well, it should be familiar as it already happened before. Actually, it happens quite often, too often.
I’ve waited and waited for people who never really came. It was like being teased with a mouth-watering chocolate bar just to have it taken away after a sniff. The feeling is the same; the faces and names are the only ones that change.
I’ve gotten used to that feeling of wanting to lift the phone to call someone but hesitating at the last minute. That urge of dialing a number and listening to a voice but hanging up nervously after a second or so (burn whoever invented caller ID).
Indeed, I've been accused of over analyzing things, and yes, until now, I still have monsters under my bed which makes it hard to put my feet back on the ground. Because this whisper of a thrill is so levitating, it makes it scarier to lose, that is if I still haven't lost it.
I could only sigh on the same irksome feeling of being somewhere, alone and waiting for someone who’s with someone else at that moment. But it really doesn't matter how unsettling the thought was. "Well, whoever you are who's holding the hands I quietly desire to hold, I am here, and I am now. You maybe the past, but I am the future."
If I could only have it my way, I would keep this the longest than most of those I have lost, and I would speak the words that I keep hidden under my pillow. Here it is, at the center of my gut, at the tip of tongue, words that I can't say like stay.
©Grace Ramos
Z
540/ 08/07
With sweaty palms and purple toes, I was waiting anxiously. Every time my phone beeps, I secretly wished it was you on the other end. But it was never you today as I sulked in disappointment when someone else leaves a message on my machine.
While waiting, I saw a black Persian cat pass by the dimly-lighted hallway and thought, “That looks so familiar.” Well, it should be familiar as it already happened before. Actually, it happens quite often, too often.
I’ve waited and waited for people who never really came. It was like being teased with a mouth-watering chocolate bar just to have it taken away after a sniff. The feeling is the same; the faces and names are the only ones that change.
I’ve gotten used to that feeling of wanting to lift the phone to call someone but hesitating at the last minute. That urge of dialing a number and listening to a voice but hanging up nervously after a second or so (burn whoever invented caller ID).
Indeed, I've been accused of over analyzing things, and yes, until now, I still have monsters under my bed which makes it hard to put my feet back on the ground. Because this whisper of a thrill is so levitating, it makes it scarier to lose, that is if I still haven't lost it.
I could only sigh on the same irksome feeling of being somewhere, alone and waiting for someone who’s with someone else at that moment. But it really doesn't matter how unsettling the thought was. "Well, whoever you are who's holding the hands I quietly desire to hold, I am here, and I am now. You maybe the past, but I am the future."
If I could only have it my way, I would keep this the longest than most of those I have lost, and I would speak the words that I keep hidden under my pillow. Here it is, at the center of my gut, at the tip of tongue, words that I can't say like stay.
©Grace Ramos
The Lovely Bones
The closest I could go near a suspense thriller is The Lovely Bones by Academy Award Winner Director Peter Jackson. The movie adaptation of Alice Sebold's 2002 best-selling novel takes on the perspective of a young girl who has been murdered.
Watching her family and her killer from a different plain, she struggles to cope with the desire for revenge, justice and spiritual healing. The Lovely Bones stars Saoirse Ronan, Mark Wahlberg, Rachel Weisz and Susan Surandon. Official release date is on December 11 so it's probably going to be in local theaters by early 2010.
For a murder film, I am actually intrigued, no check that, I am captured. I sure hope it won't disappoint though. If you're a visual person looking for splashes of color and shifting tones, you might want to share my bucket of popcorn, pack of M&M's and tall glass of soda. Come with?
Watching her family and her killer from a different plain, she struggles to cope with the desire for revenge, justice and spiritual healing. The Lovely Bones stars Saoirse Ronan, Mark Wahlberg, Rachel Weisz and Susan Surandon. Official release date is on December 11 so it's probably going to be in local theaters by early 2010.
For a murder film, I am actually intrigued, no check that, I am captured. I sure hope it won't disappoint though. If you're a visual person looking for splashes of color and shifting tones, you might want to share my bucket of popcorn, pack of M&M's and tall glass of soda. Come with?
Monday, August 10, 2009
Y (expired notes)
Y
411/08/07
Knockx2! A loud and repeated banging tried to yank me out of my dreamy state. I didn’t mind it at first wishing it would just go away, but it didn’t. It persisted and became incorrigible not allowing me to go back to my slumber.
My head is heavy from gulping alcohol while my razorback shirt is covered with the smell of people's perfume and sweat. I slept late just like the past few days, but the lack of sleep was worth every bit of play time I was getting.
I secretly enjoy creating chaos in people's minds while I make rounds and paint the town red with my elaborate mini escapades. Sharing less than friendly and more carnal banters utterly excites me.
With the banging becoming more and more disturbing, I snapped back to reality. “Could it be? Thought I got rid of …?” I sprung out of bed and scampered to hide someone's scattered clothes on the floor. A new flame came home with me earlier and left tracks in my apartment.
When I was about to open the door, the extra phone I was secretly keeping peered from the side of my eyes. I reached for it and threw it into the hamper in a desperate move to conceal all my dirty laundry from the person behind the door.
… always comes unannounced to bring me takeout food, to gift me with a pint of my favorite pistachio ice cream or just to slip a cheesy pink note under my door. While some people find it as grand gestures of affection, I find it rather appalling.
I disdain every bit of it! I hate it! I always have, and always will. Spontaneity, as despondent romantics would label it, is not just my cup of tea and so is monogamy.
©Grace Ramos
411/08/07
Knockx2! A loud and repeated banging tried to yank me out of my dreamy state. I didn’t mind it at first wishing it would just go away, but it didn’t. It persisted and became incorrigible not allowing me to go back to my slumber.
My head is heavy from gulping alcohol while my razorback shirt is covered with the smell of people's perfume and sweat. I slept late just like the past few days, but the lack of sleep was worth every bit of play time I was getting.
I secretly enjoy creating chaos in people's minds while I make rounds and paint the town red with my elaborate mini escapades. Sharing less than friendly and more carnal banters utterly excites me.
With the banging becoming more and more disturbing, I snapped back to reality. “Could it be? Thought I got rid of …?” I sprung out of bed and scampered to hide someone's scattered clothes on the floor. A new flame came home with me earlier and left tracks in my apartment.
When I was about to open the door, the extra phone I was secretly keeping peered from the side of my eyes. I reached for it and threw it into the hamper in a desperate move to conceal all my dirty laundry from the person behind the door.
… always comes unannounced to bring me takeout food, to gift me with a pint of my favorite pistachio ice cream or just to slip a cheesy pink note under my door. While some people find it as grand gestures of affection, I find it rather appalling.
I disdain every bit of it! I hate it! I always have, and always will. Spontaneity, as despondent romantics would label it, is not just my cup of tea and so is monogamy.
©Grace Ramos
talk
"If only issues would magically disappear with one of your kisses," I said in a melancholic tone.
"I would love to hear you sing to me again. I suppose you still remember the words," you said as you handed me your barely caressed acoustic guitar. The gesture, I guess, was to drown what I just said.
"I don't sing anymore these days. I just don't have the reason to. The bells just stopped ringing," I replied.
"Can you at least strum me a line or two?" you asked in a forceful prying voice.
I raised my hands to show you my freshly manicured nails and said, "We wouldn't want to mess them would we?"
©Grace Ramos
"I would love to hear you sing to me again. I suppose you still remember the words," you said as you handed me your barely caressed acoustic guitar. The gesture, I guess, was to drown what I just said.
"I don't sing anymore these days. I just don't have the reason to. The bells just stopped ringing," I replied.
"Can you at least strum me a line or two?" you asked in a forceful prying voice.
I raised my hands to show you my freshly manicured nails and said, "We wouldn't want to mess them would we?"
©Grace Ramos
Saturday, August 8, 2009
I'm Moving On
I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on
I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone
I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on
Friday, August 7, 2009
Shaq to torture pink
Before you think of anything violent, I'm not talking about Pink the rocker who's a proud bisexual and famed for hit song So What. I'm actually referring to pink as in the color stereotyped only for girls (fuck the norms). And yes, the Shaq I'm talking about is Shaquille O'Neal who was just traded to the Cleveland Cavaliers by the Phoenix Suns.
Anyhow, I know it's too early to paint a grim picture in your heads, and some of you might not have the stomach for this one yet, but here goes...
Can you imagine a 7.5 feet-tall, 325-pound guy fitting in an Earl Boykins-size spandex? Just the thought of it is scary enough, right? But that nightmarish idea is likely going to happen over the weekend as man mountain Shaq waged his jersey-hugging image over a volleyball game.
While the idea of having Shaq dive in the sand is entertaining enough to say the least, he decided to raise the ante for an ABC reality show "Shaq Vs." by saying if he and teammate Phil Dalhausser loss against Olympic gold medalists Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh, his ass is going to parade in a pink Speedo along the two mile LA coastline.
By the way, I have nothing against men wearing pink. I'd happily give them high fives for being open-minded enough to wear the color. What I'm having a hard time reconciling is Shaq wearing an air-tight Speedo and nothing else. Fine! It's reality TV and anything goes, but common, wearing a piece of nylon and spandex that is at least three sizes smaller than yours? You must be getting paid huge bucks for that man! Good for you! (Sorry for us?)
But you got to hand it to the guy. At 37 years old and way past his swinging prime, the NBA's pre-Dwight Howard Superman sure knows how to stir some controversy around him. I just hope he also takes the entertainment to hungry Cleveland by helping Lebron "King" James get that elusive crown.
Anyhow, the reality show, which debuts on Aug. 18 on ABC, will also feature top athletes like my favorite swimmer and eight-time Beijing games gold medalist Michael Phelps, Cardinals slugger Albert Pujols and Steelers QB Ben Roethlisberger.
Please God... For the love of everything I believe in, please let Shaq win! lol
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
mcnugget
(I have nothing brilliant to say so you have to bare with me tonight.)
To cover everything that I had to do for the day, I skipped breakfast and lunch. I thought I would have time to grab a quick bite and watch a movie after my thing in Ortigas, but it took longer than I expected. In fact, it took me nine long hours. So by the time I was done, all my tummy monsters packed their bags and left already.
But I knew I had to eat something or be doomed so I did. I dragged a favorite guy friend with me for a quick altanghap. Altanghap is a street slang in depressed areas of the country that pertains to a meal good for the entire day- almusal (breakfast), tanghalian (lunch) and hapunan (dinner).
We strolled around Ortigas for awhile just to find most fast food restos were closed for the holiday. Today, which is the burial of President Corazon C. Aquino, was declared a National Day of Mourning (see Cory- A Tribute).
That was it; it was crunch time. It was either I swallow McDonald's crap or go hungry since I surely won't eat anything when I get home. While opening the door for me, my ever so thoughtful friend said, "One time lang."
Having no other option, I obliged. Off-hand there was really nothing in the menu that I would eat without a gun at my head. But I was there, hungry enough to forget my name, so I pointed to a McNugget something.
When the McNugget came, I must admit, it sorta looked appealing. I'm not sure if it was just hallucinations, but it spoke to me and said, "Bite me!" Anyhow, it looked familiar enough like regular chicken nuggets so what the hell.
I was probably that hungry that I could just jump in those plastic trays and devour the entire plate. But my friend's meal was late so I waited a bit. The bit took a while. In fact, it took 5-10 minutes which was eternity for a grinding tummy.
When it was time to fill the trunk, the McNugget seemed different. It looked plain, and didn't have character. And yes, I look for character, in everyone and in everything including food. Definitely it was something I would shrug off if I had a choice, but I didn't have any, so yes, I had a bite or two.
I just hate it when I settle for less. I hate that I know I deserve more. Whether I really do deserve more and getting less, or I just think I do and getting less, I still hate it.
To cover everything that I had to do for the day, I skipped breakfast and lunch. I thought I would have time to grab a quick bite and watch a movie after my thing in Ortigas, but it took longer than I expected. In fact, it took me nine long hours. So by the time I was done, all my tummy monsters packed their bags and left already.
But I knew I had to eat something or be doomed so I did. I dragged a favorite guy friend with me for a quick altanghap. Altanghap is a street slang in depressed areas of the country that pertains to a meal good for the entire day- almusal (breakfast), tanghalian (lunch) and hapunan (dinner).
We strolled around Ortigas for awhile just to find most fast food restos were closed for the holiday. Today, which is the burial of President Corazon C. Aquino, was declared a National Day of Mourning (see Cory- A Tribute).
That was it; it was crunch time. It was either I swallow McDonald's crap or go hungry since I surely won't eat anything when I get home. While opening the door for me, my ever so thoughtful friend said, "One time lang."
Having no other option, I obliged. Off-hand there was really nothing in the menu that I would eat without a gun at my head. But I was there, hungry enough to forget my name, so I pointed to a McNugget something.
When the McNugget came, I must admit, it sorta looked appealing. I'm not sure if it was just hallucinations, but it spoke to me and said, "Bite me!" Anyhow, it looked familiar enough like regular chicken nuggets so what the hell.
I was probably that hungry that I could just jump in those plastic trays and devour the entire plate. But my friend's meal was late so I waited a bit. The bit took a while. In fact, it took 5-10 minutes which was eternity for a grinding tummy.
When it was time to fill the trunk, the McNugget seemed different. It looked plain, and didn't have character. And yes, I look for character, in everyone and in everything including food. Definitely it was something I would shrug off if I had a choice, but I didn't have any, so yes, I had a bite or two.
I just hate it when I settle for less. I hate that I know I deserve more. Whether I really do deserve more and getting less, or I just think I do and getting less, I still hate it.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Gran Paradiso
"It's a hot evening for July," you said with that innocent and playful grin of yours that steals me. We sat on the park bench we usually just pass by. Having been asked to take that walk was surprising since you rarely ask me to do anything with you. It was, yes, a major panic moment for me, but what else can a girl do other than yield?
The usual street lights were off already since it was past midnight when we got there. Although, the sky was lucid enough for me to see every blink of those wide, glassy eyes and every stunningly awkward smile you let out when your hands accidentally touch mine.
You switched off your phone which is weird because you never do that. Feeling obliged, I followed your lead. "I like the park better at night. It's easier to talk to you this way. I don't have to compete with anything or anyone for your attention," I said, although regretting the last line.
I knew better than to say that. It was no competition. I wasn't in a race, not with anyone, not for you. Though you never said or did anything to make me at ease with those awkward moments, somehow I felt I was where I ought to be. That if I was in a race, I would be ahead of the pack.
But just like the classic you, you just sat there without saying a word for some five minutes. Five fucking long minutes that I wished would vanish like the sun at night. Then, with a sudden gush of blood in my head, you rested your cheek on my shoulder.
It was, yet again, another major panic moment because for me, the person I was sitting beside to would go as far as possible from me, eluding my every step like I was the mother of all sins.
Sometimes, I wonder how your hair would smell like when I wake up next to you one morning or how perfectly our hands would fit together if you'd only have the desire to hold mine. But I would regain my sanity and realize you're my Gran Paradiso that I still need to climb.
"If I could only capture this event, put it in a box and throw away the key," I thought to myself. You were there, with me, alone. At that moment, when I could almost breathe the scent of your air, I wish you'd just indulge me, or better yet, indulge in me.
You were there for five minutes, with me, in the same park bench we usually just pass by. It was the shortest five minutes of my entire life. And like how spontaneous your leaning was, so was your rising up. I almost felt the gentle dent in your cheek that I could only kiss in my dreams, but it was too fast, it was too fleeting.
You finally broke the silence. As magical as your mere presence in a room, you triumphantly conquered me with a bold declaration, "I am finally taking that leap you suggested." My fragile bones could only shiver in anticipation but only to some point as you continued, "She's back."
Could I just drown in that moss-covered lake five steps away? I wanted to run to the car, start the engine and speed away. That was one of those great escapes I see in action movies, except that I don't have a car, and it was not just a movie.
Suddenly, I was wasted on climbing my Gran Paradiso. I could barely feel anything in my legs. "Is this what a stroke would feel like?" Might as well be one as the last two words I heard were the death of me.
What else could girl do? Sit still? Run away? Drifting to seclusion could be the best option, but the agenda in the docket were shaking your hand, faintly kissing one cheek and politely saying goodnight.
Like your typical average girl, I smiled and said, "You do what you have to do. For now, it's way past my bedtime."
©Grace Ramos
The usual street lights were off already since it was past midnight when we got there. Although, the sky was lucid enough for me to see every blink of those wide, glassy eyes and every stunningly awkward smile you let out when your hands accidentally touch mine.
You switched off your phone which is weird because you never do that. Feeling obliged, I followed your lead. "I like the park better at night. It's easier to talk to you this way. I don't have to compete with anything or anyone for your attention," I said, although regretting the last line.
I knew better than to say that. It was no competition. I wasn't in a race, not with anyone, not for you. Though you never said or did anything to make me at ease with those awkward moments, somehow I felt I was where I ought to be. That if I was in a race, I would be ahead of the pack.
But just like the classic you, you just sat there without saying a word for some five minutes. Five fucking long minutes that I wished would vanish like the sun at night. Then, with a sudden gush of blood in my head, you rested your cheek on my shoulder.
It was, yet again, another major panic moment because for me, the person I was sitting beside to would go as far as possible from me, eluding my every step like I was the mother of all sins.
Sometimes, I wonder how your hair would smell like when I wake up next to you one morning or how perfectly our hands would fit together if you'd only have the desire to hold mine. But I would regain my sanity and realize you're my Gran Paradiso that I still need to climb.
"If I could only capture this event, put it in a box and throw away the key," I thought to myself. You were there, with me, alone. At that moment, when I could almost breathe the scent of your air, I wish you'd just indulge me, or better yet, indulge in me.
You were there for five minutes, with me, in the same park bench we usually just pass by. It was the shortest five minutes of my entire life. And like how spontaneous your leaning was, so was your rising up. I almost felt the gentle dent in your cheek that I could only kiss in my dreams, but it was too fast, it was too fleeting.
You finally broke the silence. As magical as your mere presence in a room, you triumphantly conquered me with a bold declaration, "I am finally taking that leap you suggested." My fragile bones could only shiver in anticipation but only to some point as you continued, "She's back."
Could I just drown in that moss-covered lake five steps away? I wanted to run to the car, start the engine and speed away. That was one of those great escapes I see in action movies, except that I don't have a car, and it was not just a movie.
Suddenly, I was wasted on climbing my Gran Paradiso. I could barely feel anything in my legs. "Is this what a stroke would feel like?" Might as well be one as the last two words I heard were the death of me.
What else could girl do? Sit still? Run away? Drifting to seclusion could be the best option, but the agenda in the docket were shaking your hand, faintly kissing one cheek and politely saying goodnight.
Like your typical average girl, I smiled and said, "You do what you have to do. For now, it's way past my bedtime."
©Grace Ramos
2010 Over Cold Beer (07/29/09)
Cheers to Erik & Joey for this night! Hot from the oven topics include costly and hilarious political ads on tv, Gilbert Teodoro's turncoat ways from Peping to GMA's fold and con-ASS or what ever you want to call it.
My favorite argument, I must say, has to be "Is goodness not enough to lead a country?" Erik, who's a disciple of Conrado D., raised this question in reference to Pampanga Gov. Ed Panlilio. His grounds: Panlilio, being a "Man of God," is a good person; therefore, is perfectly capable of stirring the presidency.
My side: Hypothetically, Panlilio is indeed a good person, can his goodness outline a constitution or draft an economic plan (a stimulus plan, perhaps) to counter recession? A street-smart tactic is good in day-to-day living, but if your in a position where a small move can make or break a nation, I don't think that would work.
I'm not speaking less of him, I should know better than that being a hardcore equality-loving person. In fact, I regard him highly; I see him in a "Moral Leader" kind of light who could inspire people to make the right choices come 2010.
That's what he should probably do! He should serve the people where he is really good at which is being a moral person who's not lusting for power. There are countless of ways to be of service without the PSGs around you.
I also wouldn't want to see a "Man of God," that's if he decide to stick with his cassock, tainted with false accusations of immorality. Although, he's already controversy-ridden in his province with allegations of corruption, but that's another matter.
Bottom line, the beer was cold, I didn't have anything to eat (which is the scenario as of late) and Joey was on my side; thus, the night ended with smiles on our faces and unresolved issues.
©Grace Ramos
We Run Together (11/05/08)
With initial results coming in as the all-important US Presidential Election between Democrat Barack Obama and Republican John McCain comes to a close, the heat is definitely on and is burning pages and airwaves across the globe. Why should we care? “Why not?”
Are you one of the many Filipinos with Tito Boy/s and Tita Baby/s juggling two to three jobs in their pursuit for greener pastures in the land of Uncle Sam? I am, and yes, they have the same worries as we do, rising cost of commodities, social security issues and expensive education.
Such matters shouldn’t be a big concern if your green card-aspiring relatives brush elbows regularly with the likes of Warren Buffet, but if not… Ahh no need to press the alarm, nothing too major can happen really, they can only miss college, lose their homes, ohh and did I mention get deported? Sshsh… Why should you care?
Are you one of the millions of tax-paying Pinoys here, who afforded a better standard of living thanks to a fake American slang? Or do you know anyone working in a graveyard shift in one of those lavishly designed hi-tech buildings complete with ADHD-inducing amenities? If so, I’m sure you wouldn’t notice if the US-based call centers towering all over Metro cities in the country start packing their bags and head back home. Why should you care?
Yes, you may not be a citizen and certainly cannot vote for either the Democratic or Republican ticket, but you’re definitely not insulated from the aftermaths of the most crucial race for the two highest offices in the US, especially with the existing economic meltdown and sensitive foreign policy issues.
One cannot over emphasize the importance of basic awareness, and better yet, a more proactive stand on this national development, which transcends a nation’s boundary.
After all, whether one admits it or not, the US is such a massive force in the world, notably in the economic and political arenas, that its condition sends shockwaves beyond its shores. Now, why the hell should you care?
©Grace Ramos
Are you one of the many Filipinos with Tito Boy/s and Tita Baby/s juggling two to three jobs in their pursuit for greener pastures in the land of Uncle Sam? I am, and yes, they have the same worries as we do, rising cost of commodities, social security issues and expensive education.
Such matters shouldn’t be a big concern if your green card-aspiring relatives brush elbows regularly with the likes of Warren Buffet, but if not… Ahh no need to press the alarm, nothing too major can happen really, they can only miss college, lose their homes, ohh and did I mention get deported? Sshsh… Why should you care?
Are you one of the millions of tax-paying Pinoys here, who afforded a better standard of living thanks to a fake American slang? Or do you know anyone working in a graveyard shift in one of those lavishly designed hi-tech buildings complete with ADHD-inducing amenities? If so, I’m sure you wouldn’t notice if the US-based call centers towering all over Metro cities in the country start packing their bags and head back home. Why should you care?
Yes, you may not be a citizen and certainly cannot vote for either the Democratic or Republican ticket, but you’re definitely not insulated from the aftermaths of the most crucial race for the two highest offices in the US, especially with the existing economic meltdown and sensitive foreign policy issues.
One cannot over emphasize the importance of basic awareness, and better yet, a more proactive stand on this national development, which transcends a nation’s boundary.
After all, whether one admits it or not, the US is such a massive force in the world, notably in the economic and political arenas, that its condition sends shockwaves beyond its shores. Now, why the hell should you care?
©Grace Ramos
Cory- A Tribute (08/02/09)
"Watching a peaceful death of a human being reminds us of a falling star; one of a million lights in a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the endless night forever."
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
There were helicopters circling the sky, and fully-equipped artillery vehicles were left and right. People who flooded the streets to Camp Crame in Quezon City stared at heavily-armed men with fear and hope; that was the milieu when a woman, like many others, was rushed to an emergency room for a C-section.
Outside the delivery room of a hospital, a father was not only thinking of possible baby names for his daughter, but he was also planning how to salvage his wife and newborn child to safety in case things go out of hand.
An air of anxiety filled the hearts of a father and a mother. They were uncertain, like many other parents of those called EDSA babies, if their child would have a country to know, a country to love.
"If only someone of a great mind and chaste heart would rise above the rest lusting for power," they thought.
Reds and yellows collided, and in that fleeting moment, they walked as one grieving and fighting army. They grieved the fall of what was once a great nation, and they fought for the hope of its resurrection. Those in power called in insurrection; I call it liberation.
A rigged election, unexplained wealth and countless of human rights violations after, another woman underwent a different kind of C-section: C-H-A-N-G-E. She stripped down her priced anonymity and gleamed with a desire to serve who she leads.
She, who reluctantly took a nation into her bosoms...,
She, who braved the most challenging of times in any leadership...,
She is Maria Corazon "Cory" C. Aquino.
Without her, a daughter of one father and one mother would not have been able to live in democracy, to know a country and to love one.
©Grace Ramos
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
There were helicopters circling the sky, and fully-equipped artillery vehicles were left and right. People who flooded the streets to Camp Crame in Quezon City stared at heavily-armed men with fear and hope; that was the milieu when a woman, like many others, was rushed to an emergency room for a C-section.
Outside the delivery room of a hospital, a father was not only thinking of possible baby names for his daughter, but he was also planning how to salvage his wife and newborn child to safety in case things go out of hand.
An air of anxiety filled the hearts of a father and a mother. They were uncertain, like many other parents of those called EDSA babies, if their child would have a country to know, a country to love.
"If only someone of a great mind and chaste heart would rise above the rest lusting for power," they thought.
Reds and yellows collided, and in that fleeting moment, they walked as one grieving and fighting army. They grieved the fall of what was once a great nation, and they fought for the hope of its resurrection. Those in power called in insurrection; I call it liberation.
A rigged election, unexplained wealth and countless of human rights violations after, another woman underwent a different kind of C-section: C-H-A-N-G-E. She stripped down her priced anonymity and gleamed with a desire to serve who she leads.
She, who reluctantly took a nation into her bosoms...,
She, who braved the most challenging of times in any leadership...,
She is Maria Corazon "Cory" C. Aquino.
Without her, a daughter of one father and one mother would not have been able to live in democracy, to know a country and to love one.
©Grace Ramos
Letters (07/27/09)
To a butterfly,
Butterfly, you ever morphing and fragile creature, shift your sights to somewhere else. Dash where there are bright, white clouds amid a sea of blue. Your flimsy frame that withstood torrential rains in your past lives will no longer endure another downpour.
"If you cannot fly above the clouds, stay away from the rain," a whispering Amihan said. You listened, albeit useless, because this was something you already knew.
Staying away from the rain is something that you've mastered but never lived.
For your withering wings, stop your illusions of brightly colored rainbows at every end.
To the rain,
You whose fluttering lashes birth violent waves beneath the ocean floor, you break brittle winged creatures over and over again. How many lifetimes does a minuscule butterfly need to live and relive to soar higher than your fatal cold drops?
It is wrong to beg you to seize from kissing the face of the Earth since it is your very nature to fall. Instead, fall somewhere else where your fertile womb can yield fruits in the driest of lands. Pierce another but a butterfly’s heart and hands.
Without you knowing, the illusions of a warm you will soon fade like a mirage in a desert.
©Grace Ramos
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